The Dig
by M. Vernet
Summary: A modern day exchange student joins an archaeological dig outside of Hammelburg, Germany, leading to some discoveries of her own. This is a Carter-centric Hogan's Heroes fanfiction, inspired in part by the episode, The Well.


A modern day exchange student joins an archeological dig outside of Hammelburg, Germany, leading to some discoveries of her own. This is a Carter-centric Hogan's Heroes fanfiction, inspired in part by the episode, _The Well._

 _Dedication:_

 _MUCH LoVe and ThAnKs to: Terri Spencer for the plot bunny,_ ^..^ _and my awesome betazoid Spencer5460 for helping defeat the ever present cringies._ 8/

 **NOTES:**

 **This story is a plot bunny graciously given to me by Terri Spencer, a creative and busy fanfic writer. The basic plot and dream scenes were her idea. It was a good little bunny, and has grown on a steady diet of Oreos into one fat little rabbit. Thanks to Terri for her great idea. I hope I do it justice.**

 **My original character Corporal Tommy Davis is based on my Uncle Tommy who I never knew. He was a navigator in the Air Force in WWll. His plane was shot down during D-day and he was never found. My Aunt's son who is Tommy's namesake visited the D-day memorial in Normandy France in the '90's and laid Uncle Tommy's favorite flowers at the foot of the monument. Tommy is a legend in our little family, not for his heroics, but for his artworks that grace all the relatives houses from Brooklyn, to Michigan to California. I have one of his landscapes hanging in my library. He was a Brooklyn born art student, and we all know he would have been a great artist. His last letter home told of dancing at the USO with the charming dark haired actress Linda Darnell. When I was a child my father and I would watch Hogan's Heroes. My father always said Carter reminded him of his little brother. I never understood at the time what that meant to him, but I always noticed the far away look in his eyes as he watched Carter's antics. That's probably why Carter was my first fangirl crush and why I have enjoyed writing fanfic about him.**

 **I must give a nod to the BBC reality show, Battlefield Recovery, that I thought was inspiring and respectful, but was the center of controversy at BBC. I believe it has been cancelled. My muse however, found it very moving and ran with it. The show followed a group of ametuer historians as they investigated battlefields of WWll. The gun I mention in the story was one I had seen on the show and thought it was quite unusual. The Degtyaryov light weight machine gun or the DP-28 was a Russian gun with a flat disc like ammunition chamber.**

 **Carter's rare blood type is real, RzRz, a rarity among Native Americans. From my limited knowledge and my google sleuthing, I deduced that AB plasma would be given to such a patient in an emergency situation in the middle of WWll. I mean no disrespect. If I offend or am wrong, I apologize.**

 **I researched the contents of a WWll medic's bag to try to be authentic about Carter's medical care. I found the drug glycyrrhiza and opium listed as used for severe colds. Glycyrrhiza is licorice root and is found to be helpful in stopping the sneezles. Opium is well, opium and helpful in pain relief. I figured, what the heck, might as well give it a shot.**

 **The university of Hammelburg exists only in my mind. But you can take the train from Hammelburg to the University of Wurzburg if you insist on dwelling in reality.**

 **I see nothing… I hear nothing… I own nothing...**

 **The Dig**

 **Chapter One**

 **The former site of Stalag Thirteen, sometime in the present**

Melinda Davis Metz wiped her forehead with the purple bandana she now kept as her constant companion in the pocket of her worn jeans. She had been told it was warm for the end of October, that warm days and cool nights were making the leaves on the trees burst into the colors of flame. She sat on a boulder in the middle of an abandoned field a few miles from Hammelburg, Germany. Drinking from a repurposed steel water bottle, she flexed her aching fingers through their nitrile glove protective coverings. University of Michigan had offered her a sophmore year in Germany, since she was an outstanding language and history student. She had jumped at the chance of studying abroad at the University of Hammelburg. There were many exchange students there from many countries including the United States, England, France and even Russia. There were many courses to choose from, and she chose an unusual WWll history course that offered actual experience in the field, literally. She sat by herself for a moment, enjoying the beautiful display of fall foliage around the perimeter of the overgrown, weedy meadow. She was far from home, but far from alone.

Her London born history professor and archaeologist, Jack Burns and his Berlin born assistant, Bren Dietrich, were across the field at the main dig, yelling at each other enthusiastically about the latest find. The other students were lounging under the makeshift awning that covered the site. But no one could long withstand the professor's joyous tones. The man lived and breathed history and specialized in recovering museum quality artifacts from WWII battlegrounds. Most of the students got wearily to their feet to see what the professor had found. After a few minutes of hushed whispers she heard her name.

"Melinda! Look!" called Burns, holding up a beaten up relic. "It's a coffee pot! Aluminum percolator, circa 1943! And it has wiring in it! I think it might have been a homemade radio!"

Melinda smiled and waved. She had a bit of a crush on this dedicated historian, he was like a tousled haired boy, digging in the backyard, and just as happy with muddy boots and a stained baseball cap that proclaimed his opinion that God should save the Queen. What had started out as a routine historical/archaeological dig to teach his students about technique and safety. Had turned out to be the most exciting find of the professor's career.

The meadow was well documented by the local University's history department as the site of a POW camp, run by the local legend Kommandant Klink. Klink's name was written down in the pages of history as a humane and decent officer, who quietly stood up to the Nazi regime, by running a safe, clean and efficient camp. Only one POW death was attributed to the camp and it was listed as being by natural causes. At his trial after the war, three POW's of different nationalities and the American Colonel who was in charge, made their way to the courtroom, just to say thank you in person to this great humanitarian. Klink was released and went to work at his former Sergeant's toyshop. Willy and Hans toys became famous and were now considered highly collectable in the vintage toy trade.

After a few days even Melinda could tell this was no simple POW camp. They had unearthed what looked to be an underground network of tunnels and the metal detectors had to be turned off because their constant beeping as more and more artifacts were discovered was giving everyone a collective headache. It seemed that the legendary Klink had been sitting on a spy network as well. Professor Burns had thought perhaps Klink had been a spy all along, using Luft Stalag Thirteen as a cover for an elaborate underground resistance. Burns professed Klink to be the unsung savior of the war. But Melinda had a strange feeling they did not have the story quite right.

Melinda took another swig of water and closed up her bottle. A few drops had fallen and were quickly absorbed by the dusty ground beneath her feet. Watching them disappear without a trace, she suddenly thought of her great uncle Tommy, who was an American Air Force navigator in WWll and was lost over Germany when his plane was reportedly shot down. His remains were never recovered and her grandfather still wore the grief on his sleeve whenever he was reminded of WWll by a movie or TV show. Her own family history said that Uncle Tommy was an art student before he enlisted, a portrait and landscape painter. Melinda had read his last letter home. He was ecstatic because he had danced with the actress, Linda Darnell at the USO. He said he was going to give her a call when he returned. Melinda shook her head slightly at the idea. She had been given some of his paintings when she graduated high school. She smiled thinking that he would have liked the vibrant reds and yellows of a German forest in Fall. She could picture young Tommy sitting on this boulder lost in a world of color, far different than his gray life as a prisoner.

Her lost great uncle was often on her mind these days. She sighed and dug her sneakered toe into the ground around the boulder. If she had enjoyed this spot, maybe the boys in the camp had sat here, too. She reached for her canvas bag of tools and started to dig, blowing a stray strand of her bright red hair out of her intense blue eyes. Three hours later she had discovered her own treasure trove. A rust-encased, German-made penknife, a whittled figure of wood that looked like an unfinished running deer, the ragged remains of two gloves. One, part of a standard German uniform, and the other, an American Air Force-issued aviator glove with a tattered label still bearing the stenciled name, A. Carter, and several spent bullets.

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Two**

 **Stalag Thirteen, sometime during WWll**

Carter sat on a boulder, looking out through the barbed wire into the brightly colored fall leaves on display on the trees that made up the perimeter of the camp. He sniffed and tried to reach for his handkerchief before the next bout of sneezing was underway. The sneeze turned into a cough and he couldn't catch his breath in time to stop his eyes from tearing up. He was miserable.

"Some friends they are," he muttered, "Sending me down that well into that freezing cold water. Volunteer? Not on my Auntie's mustard plaster. If they want me gone so bad, they should just tell me, not try and slowly kill me."

Carter had been sulking since he had been dunked twice and almost drowned by his so called team. He nearly forgave them when they tried to comfort him afterwards, but the head cold he caught had made him grouchy and melancholy.

Carter took off one of his gloves and placed it on the boulder. It slid to the ground unnoticed. Carter took out the penknife that Newkirk had "borrowed" from one of the guards and given to Carter to try to make him feel better. He took up where he left off on his whittling. The little wooden deer was almost finished. Carter was going to give it to the new guy, Tommy Davis. Carter liked Tommy, he was from Brooklyn and hid a quick wit under his brown curly hair and slight build. Tommy had a funny way of talking and he was always drawing. Carter already had a really good drawing of the gang relaxing outside of Barracks Two that Tommy had given him. Even though Carter was mad at his brothers, he was choked with emotion when he looked at the drawing of the gang trying to get a sour faced Carter to laugh. Davis was young, two years younger than Carter. That more than anything made Carter want to befriend the boy. He knew better than anyone how hard it was to be the youngest POW. If Carter had his way, Tommy would be sheltered from all the mean things his friends said and did to _him._

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Three**

Colonel Hogan, leaning against Barracks Two with his cap pulled down almost all the way over his eyes, watched Carter thoughtfully. Hogan had felt terrible after he had sent Carter down the old dry, now very wet and very cold well to retrieve the codebook stashed there by the team. Somehow he had underestimated the danger to his Technical Sergeant. Now Carter was physically and mentally compromised. Hogan couldn't sleep the night before, listening to Carter sneeze, sniffle and grouse. The worse part was that Carter was ignoring all his friends' endeavours to cheer and cure him, even turning down LeBeau's _creme de champignons_ soup.

Hogan wanted to apologize to Carter. They all used him as an emotional punching bag way too often. He realized it as soon as he pulled Carter from the well and tried to warm him with a blanket which Carter refused. When Carter walked away in all his shivering, semi-naked, skinny glory, Hogan felt like he had kicked a puppy… and then tried to drown the puppy in freezing well water. It was all Hogan could do not to pull Carter into barracks two to warm him inside and out with blankets, tea and mother henning. Hogan grimaced as Carter search for a handkerchief. That decided him. Tonight he would have Wilson examine Carter and then have a heart to heart with his boy and let him know that the almighty Hogan was wrong. Then he would talk Carter into letting his friends smother him with tender loving care as they wanted to do all week.

Hogan continued watching, satisfied with his decision, as Carter was joined by Sergeant Schultz and Corporal Davis. Hogan liked Davis, but two weeks was too soon to tell any newbie about the unsung heroes. Hogan usually radioed London for a background check on newbies and then whoever on his team had the most in common with the guy, would approach the man and fill him in. Carter was officially the officer in charge of laundry and moral for the Americans, so he would take charge of Davis. Hogan liked what he saw in young Tommy and had a niggling thought in the back of his mind that a talented artist might be an asset to his team. But right now, Carter's well being was his biggest concern.

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Four**

"Hey, there, ah, Carter. How's it goin'?" Carrying his ever present sketchbook and pencil, already a quarter-full with drawings of pin-up girls and his new surroundings, Tommy Davis sauntered over to the boulder where Carter was sniffling and whittling. Tommy placed a hand on Carter's shoulder. "Aw, ya look like heck. You should go inside but it ain't that much warmer in dare. You want I should get ya a hot coffee?"

"No thanks, Davis. I think the coffee I just had for breakfast burnt a hole in my tum." Carter winced and rubbed his stomach. Carter turned his face to give Davis a smile and noticed Davis freeze up with a look of fear on his boyish face. Concerned, Carter looked around but only saw Sergeant Schultz approaching.

Carter laughed a little and patted Davis' arm."Don't worry, kid. That's Schultzy. He's tame. Heck he's practically one of us."

Davis swallowed and gave a hesitant nod as the big German guard addressed them.

"Hello, boys!" Schultz bellowed with a hint of a chuckle in his voice. "What are you doing out here? It's almost All Hallow's Eve! Much too chilly to sit on rocks and be still. You boys should exercise! Play some, how you say, Foot 'n ball!"

Carter giggled. "That's football, Schultzy. And this is Corporal Tommy Davis. He's an artist and a good one, too! Want him to draw you? You could give the picture to your wife."

Schultz looked vaguely puzzled. "Davis, Davis. Ah! Yes! You are new here. I tell you for your own good Davis. You be a good boy and you will do fine. No monkey business like this one gets up to."

The Sergeant hooked a gloved thumb in Carter's direction and smirked. Carter let out a loud sneeze. The Sergeant came closer to Carter. He pulled off a glove to feel Carter's slightly feverish brow.

Davis noticed the fatherly concern on the big German's face and had to capture it. He backed away from them, smiling as his pencil began to fly across the paper.

Carter moved away from Schultz's meaty hand, "Aw, get away, Schultzy. I'm alright." Carter glanced at Davis who was already engrossed in his drawing. He smiled, then something in the trees outside the barbed wire caught his eye. Carter thought he heard a dog bark.

"Gun!" Carter screamed. He grabbed Schultz and pushed him to the ground as the sickening percussion of a machine gun broke through the quiet fall afternoon.

Schultz grunted in pain as he hit the ground, his helmet skittering across the weedy soil and stopping at Tommy Davis' still boot.

Carter sobbed, "Davis! Tommy! Oh, God, no!"

That's when Carter realized that he was bleeding all over Schultz's heaving great coat. When the pain finally made it to his numbed mind, it was like the explosions he was so fond of. But this wasn't exciting. This was death trying to take his young life.

Then out of the haze of pain he saw his Colonel's worried face. "Andrew? Can you hear me? You'll be alright. Stay with me, son." Carter felt his hair being caressed. He tried to smile.

"I screwed up big this time, boy, I mean Colonel." Carter never saw the tears fill Hogan's eyes.

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Five**

Hogan fought the tears threatening to overwhelm him. "Oh, Andrew," he said as he gently rolled Carter off of Schultz who was moaning and softly sobbing.

The camp was a teeming mass of movement and noise. Sirens wailed, guards blew whistles and yelled orders. Dogs barked excitedly, knowing they were going to be let out. The prisoners were shouting, some standing guard and others running towards their wounded brothers.

To Hogan it seemed like an eternity before Newkirk, LeBeau, Kinch and Wilson were by his side bombarding him with terrified questions and shattered looks.

"Sniper. Shots came from the woods," Hogan croaked out, his voice strange to his own ears.

Kinch ran to Tommy Davis and slowly turned him over. He had taken four bullets - one to the head, three to the back - and had died instantly. His pencil was still clutched in his hand. Kinch sighed heavily. "Davis is dead Colonel. Didn't have a chance."

The others quietly acknowledged Kinch's words. Kinch picked up Davis' sketchbook. It was open to a half-finished drawing of Schultz and Carter, each personality captured perfectly. Kinch took out his handkerchief to wipe the blood splatters from the drawing of his friends' cheerful faces. Then he used the handkerchief to cover Tommy Davis' unseeing eyes to allow him some modicum of dignity. Kinch looked up at LeBeau. "How's Carter and Schultz?"

LeBeau looked up at Kinch's sorrowful face and cleared his own throat of the lump forming there. "Schultz will be alright. One bullet went right through his lower leg." LeBeau checked the field dressing he had applied to the Sergeant's leg. "The bleeding has mostly stopped already."

LeBeau helped the big-hearted man to sit up and leaned him against the boulder. LeBeau patted the man's cheeks and tried to encourage him. "You will be fine, Schultz. You were very lucky."

"No!" the Sergeant said through his tears. "I was not lucky! Carter saved my life. He thought nothing of himself. He did not take cover. He pushed me down and took the bullets meant for me. And now poor Carter is going to die."

Schultz looked around at the faces of Carter's brother's in arms. He knew the anguish they were feeling. He felt it too. "I am so very sorry."

The medic, Sergeant Scotty Wilson, immediately took charge of Carter. Hogan held him still and whispered encouragement into Carter's ear. Newkirk handed the medic his supplies as Wilson moved silently and quickly to stop the bleeding of Carter's wounds.

Wilson announced Carter's condition to his worried friends as he worked. "He took two bullets. One to the shoulder. Through and through. One through the back near his right kidney. It's real bad. I need to operate and get the bullet out as soon as I can."

Newkirk watched as Hogan held Carter's limp hand tightly. "Gov'nor, Andrew's gonna make it. 'e 'as to. I 'ave to tell 'im 'ow much 'e's… needed. I gotta tell 'im I'm sorry."

Hogan smiled at the Corporal's words. "I know, Peter. Me too."

Outside the fence near where the shots had been fired, a guard cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, "I found the weapon, no sign of the shooter!"

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Six**

Oscar Schnitzer, the local animal doctor and dog trainer, sat in his bright kitchen. The friendly space was filled with the autumn harvest of apples and pumpkins waiting to be made into pies. The big hearted man gently twisted with nervous fingers the blond curls on the head of his boy, as young Kurt hid his angelic face in Oscar's worn work shirt. Kurt was crying inconsolably.

Kurt's best friend, Rudy, was as dark featured as Kurt was light. His wire rimmed glasses bespoke of his steady mind and scholarly ways. Rudy's little brother Wolfie, looked just like his older brother except for his lack of spectacles. They were both the spitting image of their father, the butcher George Driskell. Driskell always joked that he couldn't deny they were his sons. The animal doctor and the butcher were both members of the secret underground movement in Hammelburg. Rudy stood stoically before Oscar holding his sniffling and hiccupping little brother as the seven-year-old nestled into his neck afraid to look up.

Oscar observed Rudy's tight jawline and trembling lips. "My, God, son. What happened to you boys?"

Rudy took a deep breath and drew all the strength left in his thirteen-year-old body in order to answer his friend's formidable papa's question.

"We were playing near the POW camp. Sir. We were playing hide and seek in the fallen leaves with Wolfie."

Oscar bristled and Kurt hugged his papa tighter. "You boys know better than to go there without supervision! You and Kurt are young men now at thirteen, not babies!"

Oscar immediately regretted ever taking the boys with him to help with the guard dogs. The boys had made friends with many of the POW's, who happily supplied the beguiling youngsters with American bubblegum from the Red Cross and an occasional highly prized, banned comic book from Sergeant Carter. Oscar now knew he had been careless with the boy's safety.

Rudy swallowed, "I know, Sir. We… we had Kurt's dog, Nelvana was with us so we thought…"

"You thought you should disobey your elders?" Oscar's anger flared, then sputtered out. The boys were obviously distraught. He sighed. "Just go on Rudy, it will be alright," he softened his tone.

Rudy took a shuddering breath and continued. "Nelvana was pawing at the earth under an old tree stump. She was whining. We dug at the spot with sticks. We… we found an old gun. It was an odd gun. Like a light rifle with a disc record player on it. It had a sort of stand to place it on. We didn't know. We.. we didn't know… the thing that looked like a record player was a disc of ammunition. The whole thing was rusty and dirty with grass in the barrel. We didn't know it would still fire. I gave it to Wolfie to play with…"

Oscar felt the blood rush from his head. He took in a breath and held it. He watched as Rudy hung his head and gave into his emotions, his slight body shaking. Wolfie grabbed his brother tighter and kissed his flushed cheek. "Rudy. I sorry I played soldier. I sorry I shotted that man, and Schultzy and Captain America…"

Oscar opened his mouth in shock. He stood and gently placed Kurt on his feet. Kurt looked up into his papa's wide eyes and whispered. "It's true, Sir. Wolfie fired the gun. It was some sort of tommy gun. The bullets kept coming out. There was no time to stop it. One of the POW's fell. Sergeant Carter pushed Sergeant Schultz to the ground. Not one of them got up again, Sir. I think we killed them. Papa, what do we do?"

Oscar closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. He thanked God that the boys had come straight to him. Then sent another fervent prayer to heaven that perhaps the three men the boys had shot would live and it would all be considered a horrible accident. Perhaps the boys could somehow make amends. Andrew Carter, the one his son and his friends jokingly called Captain America, was a kind, decent man. It broke his heart to think of the happy smile gone from his face. Oscar shook off the thought.

"The first thing we do, my son, is tell Rudy and Wolfie's papa what has happened. Then I will go talk to Colonel Hogan at the camp. He will know what to do."

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Seven**

Klink finally came out of hiding and made his way to the infirmary, holding on to the tallest and biggest Private he could find among his guards, using him as a human shield in case the sniper was still out there. As much as he cared for Sergeant Hans Schultz, he cared for his own safety a bit more.

Colonel Hogan paced outside the infirmary, having been banished by Sergeant Wilson for making him too nervous. LeBeau, Newkirk and Kinch were inside doing all they could to aide their fallen comrades. LeBeau took charge of Schultz, talking to him softly and soothing his brow with a cool cloth as they waited for the morphine Wilson gave him to take effect.

"Oh, Louis. Why would someone shoot those good boys? My heart is aching for them. I only wish to keep all you boys safe. But you so try my patience. I do not wish for Carter to die. He is such a polite boy and so kind. I wish it had been me…"

" _Non, non_ , Schultzy. Do not think like that. Carter will be fine. You will see. You can not take on all the troubles of this horrible war. You can not protect us all, even if your shoulders are as broad as a house."

Schultz moaned, his eyelids growing heavy. He reached for LeBeau's cheek and patted it. "You are my good little friend, cockroach. You will make me get well strudel?"

" _Mais oui, mon ami._ Now go to sleep." LeBeau let a brief smile cross his face as he covered the Sergeant with a blanket.

LeBeau glanced at the door of the dark storage room turned morgue, where Tommy Davis lay quiet and cold inside a Red Cross issued body bag. Earlier, Kinch had laid Tommy's pencil and his sketchbook atop his folded arms. A red-headed, freckle-faced fellow Brooklynite, Private Muldoon, had said a prayer over the body and brought Tommy's rosary beads, wrapping them around the young man's, now forever resting, hands.

Muldoon was the former head altar boy at _Mary, Star of the Sea_ , Catholic church in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. He was the unofficial Chaplain in the camp ever since he had written his old parish priest for a prayer book for use in the POW camp so far from home. The old priest had written back giving Muldoon an unorthodox blessing making the not so saint-like soldier a deacon of the church, able to say mass and give the last rites if need be. Muldoon was a great friend of Wilson's, usually seen hovering around the infirmary if anyone was injured. LeBeau provided the wine for Muldoon's simple Sunday morning masses, sometimes even staying till the end.

LeBeau had prayed along with Muldoon for Tommy and now said his own prayer for his _Andre'_ who was fighting death across the room.

Kinch, arms crossed and face like a thunderstorm watched Wilson work on Carter. Kinch was ready to run for anything they might need and had been given the task of reporting Carter's progress every fifteen minutes to the fretting Colonel pacing outside. Kinch glanced at his watch whose hands seemed to be moving extremely slowly. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He had to remember to breathe.

Newkirk stood by his best friend listening carefully for Wilson's terse instructions and carrying them out to the best of his ability. He tried not to think that his best buddy was the paler than pale soldier under all that blood. He tried not to notice that Carter had not moved and that he was having a hard time breathing, He held the oxygen mask over his face and tried not to remember those blue eyes laughing with him in the sunlight or turned to him in the dark night for assurance that all was well. Newkirk raised his eyes to the white painted ceiling.

 _Things are not bloody well, Andrew. You are barely 'olding on. Don't do this to your old mate. I need you, Andrew. I need your crazy stories and addlepated ideas, your kind eyes and your constant friendship. Andrew, please live. You've got to live._

Carter gave a weak cough and drew in a wheezy breath. Newkirk's attention was immediately back on his friend.

Wilson stopped for a moment and listened to Carter breathe. Newkirk held _his_ breath. "He's having trouble breathing, Peter. Keep the mask on him, give him a bit more."

Newkirk fiddled with the oxygen tank valve as Wilson resumed his work. Newkirk adjusted the mask and lightly stroked Carter's hair. He leaned in and whispered. "You 'old on, Andrew. You ruddy well don't 'ave to get shot and die to make a point. We all been bloody fools to always be takin' the Mickey outta ya. You are our little brother and we can't do without ya. I can't do without ya. You do not have permission to die. That's an order, Technical Sergeant. And if ya got a problem taking orders from a RAF Corporal, well you had better get well and put in a bloody official complaint against me."

Wilson looked up holding the bullet that entered Carter's back in his forceps. He let it clatter into a waiting metal dish and triumphantly called, "Got it. Peter, I need more light here."

Newkirk scrambled to adjust the main light over the makeshift operating table.

"Good, right there. It doesn't look like the bullet nicked the kidney. Now we just have to check for bleeders and close him up."

Newkirk nodded and went back to holding the oxygen mask on his friends face. "'ear that Andrew? Just gotta button ya up and you'll be right as rain." Carter gave another weak cough, as Newkirk blinked at the ceiling again, trying to keep the tears in his eyes from spilling over.

"Kinch," Wilson ordered, "Get me another bag of plasma and then go tell Colonel Hogan that Carter's holding his own. I should be finished in about forty-five minutes. I'll come talk to Hogan then. Tell him I need to speak with him alone."

Kinch frowned, but nodded and moved quickly to the supply cabinet. He handed the plasma bag to Newkirk who replaced it for the empty one on the IV pole. Kinch said quietly, "Last one."

Wilson nodded and Newkirk caught Kinch's eye. What he saw there mirrored his own anxious thoughts. Kinch nodded and brushed his hand along Newkirk's shoulders to let him know he was not alone in his worry for his little brother.

LeBeau, satisfied that his charge was peacefully sleeping, stood and joined Kinch as he exited the infirmary. Kinch put his arm around LeBeau and they both went outside to speak with Colonel Hogan and Kommandant Klink.

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Eight**

"Hooooogan! I have examined the sniper's gun. It is a Russian gun. Explain to me why a Russian is shooting at my guards." Klink took the arms of the tall private and situated him between the fenceline and himself. Satisfied, he turned to glare at Hogan.

"How do I know it wasn't some renegade German soldier using a keepsake from the Russian front to take pot shots at _my_ men? The only Russians I know are on this side of the fence! This is Germany after all and I have one man dead and one man critically injured. How will _you_ explain away the death of a fine young man under your care? I wouldn't want to be in your shiny black boots." Hogan glanced at the infirmary door. He knew he'd have to deal with Klink. But right now he felt like strangling him just to keep him quiet.

"Do not take that tone with _me_ , Hogan!" Klink moved two steps closer to the Colonel, then realizing he was in the open, took two steps back again. The tall private sighed quietly and tried not to react to the ridiculous prattle of his fearless leader.

Hogan noticed the man's demeanor and jumped on it. "Private… Mosher. Right?"

The tall man cleared his throat. "Yes, Colonel Hogan?"

"How much extra are they paying you to keep your Kommendant from ending up in a sniper's crosshairs?"

Mosher sputtered, "Sir, I don't know… I mean nothing… I mean… "

"Oh, Shut-up, Private. Don't answer him. And… don't move," said Klink.

Hogan laughed a bit at embarrassing Klink. But he immediately sobered when the infirmary doors finally opened and Kinch and Lebeau appeared.

LeBeau cut off Klink before he could say a word. "Sergeant Schultz is doing well. The shot to his left calf is clean and clear of infection. It is not life threatening. Sergeant Wilson gave him a shot of morphine so he is sleeping like a big teddy bear. Wilson says he will need to be off his feet for a week or so. Perhaps you could arrange a pass for him to go home and let his wife take care of him, Sir."

Klink let his monocle fall into his gloved palm as he shook his head. "Poor man. Yes, perhaps I could let him have some time at home to recover. That is a good idea, LeBeau. Did my dear friend ask for his Kommandant in his hour of need? I would have been here sooner, but the situation needed an iron hand…" Klink waved his fist at the Frenchman who back away slightly and smirked.

" _Non_ , Sir. He asked for strudel."

Private Mosher giggled a little and then soberly stood at attention. Klink glared at him.

Kinch had been whispering details of Carter's ordeal to his Colonel. Including the fact that he thought Wilson was hiding something that was for the Colonel's ears only.

Hogan placed a hand on Kinch's shoulder as they exchanged strength from a simple touch.

"What of Carter, Sergeant Kinchloe?" Klink asked politely.

Kinch wasn't sure what to say to Klink so he decided to leave it vague. "He was shot twice, shoulder and back. But Wilson says he's stable now. Um… He should be okay."

"Carter saved Schultz's life you know." Hogan interjected, "I was watching. I saw him push Schultz to the ground." Hogan hoped that if Klink was grateful to Carter, he might be more willing to offer whatever medical supplies Carter might need to recover.

"Really? Well, then. Feel free to ask for what Carter may need and I will consider it… Oh! Do you wish to send him to the hospital? I could possibly arrange it. Yes, and I should call my personal doctor for Schultz. I'm sure Wilson is capable of sewing your men back together, but he is not a real doctor."

Before Hogan could sarcastically compliment Klink on his overwhelming humanitarianism, the infirmary doors opened and Scotty Wilson stepped out. He looked exhausted as he attempted to hide his messy, slightly over long dirty brown hair beneath his well-worn olive drab cap. Traces of dried red blood could be seen on his wrinkled field jacket.

He ignored the two Colonels. "Kinch, Lebeau. Get in there and help Newkirk clean up. Make him rest, he's about to keel over. Then coffee and food for everyone, Lebeau. We moved Carter to a bed. Double check his oxygen mask and IV lines while I talk to Hogan. I'll make it as fast as I can, guys."

Klink bristled as Kinch and LeBeau immediately complied. Wilson was clearly being insubordinate in Klink's eyes. Hogan was used to his medic's rough ways. Especially when one of his boys was ill. Hogan gave him plenty of leeway when snarly Wilson had his claws out to protect one of his cubs.

 _And they call me Papa Bear._

Hogan stepped in to defuse the situation.

"Sergeant Wilson! Report!"

Wilson glared at Hogan, who just raised an eyebrow. Wilson realized what he had done and turned to Klink and slapped a sheepish grin on his face.

"Sorry, Kommandant Klink… Sir." Wilson saluted, "I didn't notice you there behind this tall fella. Didn't mean to get all bossy like. Been a real hard day, ya know? Sir?"

"Yes, well. Alright Sergeant. I do appreciate you taking care of Schultz. But I will take over now. I shall call the hospital and order them to send an ambulance to take your worrisome charges off of your hands."

Wilson opened his mouth to object, but thought better of it. Klink held up a limp hand and cried, "Heil Hitler." Then turned Private Mosher towards his quarters and pulled him along. Wilson and Hogan both shook their heads as they watched Old Iron Eagle and his human shield leave.

Hogan took Wilson's arm. "Let's sit you down on that bench, before you fall down. Now, tell me everything, Scotty."

Wilson sat and ran his hands over his face trying to organize his thoughts. He had never been so tired before. His very bones ached.

Hogan pleaded with his medic, "Scotty, I want to help. I _need_ to help Carter. Please tell me he's not going to die."

"Oh, no, no, Colonel. I… I think he'll make it. I pray he'll make it. It's just that Carter can not under any circumstances go to a German Hospital."

"Why, Scotty? If he needs their resources…"

"Hogan, Carter needs blood. He needs a transfusion."

"Scotty! Every man in this camp, everyone in the underground, hell, even most of the guards would give blood to Carter. I could probably get General Burkholder to give blood!"

"No, Hogan that's part of the problem. Carter can't go to a German hospital because that bastard Hitler has decreed that no German blood can be used for a non-German patient. Carter needs blood, but he can't be left in the hands of of those German dogs who call themselves doctors!"

Hogan sighed, "Okay, Scotty. We won't let them take Carter. We can give him a transfusion from another POW. Not a problem."

"Yes, it's a problem! It's a goddamn problem!" Wilson shocked Hogan by shouting at him as tears of defeat started to brim in his eyes. "I tested his blood with all blood types before I started the operation. True, everyone would be willing to give blood, but no type matched! It finally dawned on me that Carter is part Sioux! He has one of the rarest blood types there is. I remember reading about rare types of blood in my red cross handbook. Only Native Americans and Eskimos have it."

"Hogan, if I was only a real doctor, I might have realized it sooner and taken Carter's own blood to save for an emergency. I'm just not good enough, Hogan. I failed him!"

"Scotty. Calm down, pal. You haven't failed him. I never thought of it and I have his official file. I don't think _Carter_ even knew."

Wilson spoke with a choked voice. "His dog tags say plasma only instead of a type. I thought that was real strange. Then I figured out what it meant. In an emergency he can have AB plasma. It's just that Carter will have a harder time gaining strength if he is given only plasma and he is so weak already."

"I should have been monitoring his health more closely after that stupid stunt you morons pulled dunking him into freezing cold well water. I could have started penicillin sooner and... and maybe a vitamin shot…"

Hogan stood and started to pace again. "Not your fault, Scotty. None of this is your fault. We can't let guilt stop us from doing all we can for Carter now. Have you told me everything?"

"There's a bit more, Hogan," Wilson said dejectedly.

Hogan sat next to him again. He reached out and patted Scotty's knee. "Tell me."

"Like I said, Hitler has this crazy fascination with blood. If a German doctor or even the Gestapo find out about Carter's rare blood type, they might want Carter in order to do research on his blood. They won't necessarily need him to be alive."

Hogan felt a chill that made the hair on his neck stand at attention. "My God, Scotty. I swear to you no one will get to Carter. I'd die before I'd let that happen."

Wilson nodded in silent agreement. "I've hidden his dog tags, only you and I know. Newkirk and Kinch know something is up, but they don't know what. As long as the Germans don't examine Carter too closely, he shouldn't even be noticed by them. Giving plasma is a pretty normal procedure for an infirmary, but, Hogan, I need more. Carter's on his last bag now."

Hogan grew thoughtful. "We'll draw attention to Carter if we ask for Klink for plasma and not blood. It's too risky."

"That's what I thought." This time Wilson stood and paced a moment before standing in front of Hogan and squaring his shoulders.

"That's why I'm going to steal it from the hospital tonight."

"What? No! Scotty!" Hogan leaned back on the bench, took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"Listen, Hogan. You know my past. You know I made my living as a petty thief. Hell, I'm in the Army because it was that or jail time. I even picked being a medic to get out of heavy work. I'm no innocent choirboy. Didn't know I'd meet boys like Carter who would change my outlook on life. I'll do anything, learn anything, do anything, just to keep my boys safe."

"Scotty, I know how you feel. But breaking into a hospital is tricky. You've been out of the business for a while."

"It's easy for me, like riding a bike. I can be in and out with everything I need before the door lets in the cold night air. How do you think the infirmary is so well stocked? Where do you think my German/English medical books come from? I've been taking a little shopping trip every new moon to stock up. They never notice a few pills here, a few syringes there. The staff thinks the doctors have light-fingers and are padding their pocket books with black market moola and visa versa."

Hogan shook his head. "You do remember I'm your commanding officer, Sergeant Wilson? Seems like you've been breaking _my_ rules at a pretty alarming rate."

"Don't worry, I don't hold it against you… Sir. You're okay for an officer."

"Don't press your luck, I'm not always such a pushover, Scotty."

"Seriously, Hogan. Carter is a good soul. Did you know that we sometimes study his pharmacy book together? He's got an Uncle in Indiana who owns a drug store. Carter's got big plans to open a pharmacy on the Sioux reservation where he grew up. He wants to get me a job me at the clinic there after the war.

His father was a Federal Indian Agent working on the reservation where he met his mother who was from the Sioux tribe. Carter took after his father. His big brother Sammy, who was killed in action a few years back, looked like an ancient Sioux warrior. Carter said they made quite the unusual and invincible pair."

Wilson smiled at the recollection. "Listen to me willya? I sound like Carter telling one of his long, tall tales of home."

Hogan smiled. He wished he could hear Carter's voice right then.

"Carter wants to get me a job as an agent and work in the clinic so I can learn about general medicine until I complete my education and become a doctor for real. Boys like Carter turned my life around. I'd do anything for them. I should be getting back to him and checking up on Newkirk, too. This has hit him hard."

"Okay, Scotty. Just give me a few hours to think up a plan. Promise me you won't go off by yourself tonight."

"I promise. That ambulance should be here 'll need to distract the doctor somehow. You coming?"

Hogan wanted desperately to see Carter, but he noticed a very agitated Oscar Schnitzer was beckoning to him from the dog pens.

Hogan sighed heavily, "What does _he_ want? I better go see. I'll be right back, Scotty… and I might just have your distraction."

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Nine**

As Hogan approached Oscar he could see that the usually unflappable man was a wreck. Oscar grabbed Hogan's arm and pulled him out of sight behind his truck.

"Colonel Hogan. I must speak to you."

"I can see that, Oscar. What is it?"

"Please, tell me if there were any survivors in the shooting today."

"How did you…"

"Please Colonel, answer me!"

"Okay, okay! Calm down. One of my men was killed. He was new, Corporal Davis. Sergeant Carter was shot twice. Hopefully he'll pull through. And Schultz was nicked in the leg. He'll be fine. Now what is this about? Do you know who shot them?"

Oscar dropped his voice to a whisper. "Colonel Hogan, I am so sorry, but it was my boy Kurt and his friends Rudy and Wolfie, the butcher's sons. They were playing outside the fence and found a gun buried under a stump. The youngest, Wolfie, pulled the trigger. They did not realize the gun had viable ammunition. It was an idiotic and tragic mistake, but it was done without malice, I assure you."

"Oh, no. The poor boys. I know they wouldn't hurt a fly and they adored Carter."

"Captain America, yes. They speak of him with great affection. Heaven help us, Colonel. What should we do?"

"We can't let the local police or the Gestapo learn of this. They will question the boys and they might become afraid and say something they shouldn't. And I don't want to draw any attention to Carter. Luckily the gun was Russian. Klink is already suspecting a Russian invasion. How old is Wolfie?"

"The boy is just seven."

Hogan closed his eyes for a moment. "Just a baby, playing with a loaded gun."

Oscar took in a shuddering breath and looked away to the serene forest beyond the camp. "You know, Colonel, my brother and I played in these very woods. We caught rabbits where the infirmary now stands. We played for hours making little houses out of sticks and bright colored maple leaves for the tree sprites and kobolds to live in so they would grant us a wish."

Hogan smiled wistfully, thinking of his own brothers and himself playing in the peaceful woods near their home. "I feel terrible for those boys, Oscar."

"Yes," said Oscar. "That is the saddest part in this tragedy. That young boys should have to play where the soil is stained in blood and tainted with the artifacts of war."

"If we have to, Oscar, we can relocate you and Herr Driskell's family to London. For my own reasons I don't want this shooting investigated too closely. We need it to blow over quickly. I just need some time to think. Come up with a reasonable or maybe unreasonable story I can sell to Klink. There is something you can do for Carter right now, if you will."

"Anything, Colonel. Anything!"

They both stopped to watch the ambulance from the hospital and a black sedan carrying Klink's personal doctor enter the camp.

"I need you to play the part of Carter's personal veterinarian." Hogan dragged Oscar to the infirmary as he explained what he needed him to do.

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Ten**

Klink's physician, _Herr_ Frankenmuth, was a small, tubby, balding man with a large handlebar mustache. What he lacked in stature he made up in arrogance.

"Wilhelm! I am appalled! This...this… infirmary is not fit for use as a goatshed!" he glanced at the slightly opened storeroom door where a glimpse of Tommy's covered body could be seen and whispered, "Dead prisoners lie in the same place as the courageous German soldier? I am horrified! And you have allowed poor brave Sergeant Schultz to be treated here?"

"Believe me, _Herr Doktor_ , it is out of my hands. I have been given no funding for this to be more than a...a… rustic first aid tent!" Klink giggled, inappropriately.

Wilson had rigged a curtain to hide Carter from view. He stood beside Hogan and Schnitzer watching the scene play out. Kinch was sitting close by Carter on a metal stool holding Carter's hand and whispering in his ear a soothing litany, in case the loud German voices worried him in his sleep.

Carter was no longer on oxygen. Wilson gave him a shot of glycyrrhiza and opium for his cold and started him on penicillin to prevent pneumonia and infection. Carter seemed to be breathing better and resting peacefully. Occasionally his mouth twitched as if he were trying to smile or break in on the conversation with one of his outrageous comments.

Newkirk had been relegated to an empty cot supposedly to get some rest. LeBeau sat beside him on the edge of the cot with arms crossed, muttering in his native language a few choice phrases for _Herr Dokto_ r and his ilk.

The doctor made a quick examination of Schultz's wound while the gentle bear of a man grunted and snorted in his drugged sleep. Looking as if it pained him to say it, the doctor pronounced, "Well, all seems good. But he will need my expert care to pull through this ordeal." Schultz giggled and mumbled, "Hellll-lo, ba-by!"

Newkirk nudged LeBeau and whispered, "I bet that ain't Mrs. Schultzy 'e's dreamin' about."

 _Herr_ Frankenmuth ordered, "You there, Frenchman. Go outside and tell the ambulance attendants to come for the good Sergeant. I shall take him to Hospital to clean and dress his wound in the proper way."

LeBeau frowned and looked at Hogan who nodded. He made his way outside as _Herr_ Frankenmuth hesitantly pulled back the curtain and gazed at Carter.

"What of this… prisoner, Wilhelm. I will not dirty my hands with him myself. But I suppose he could be brought along to hospital if you wish him to survive. I do not care if one or more of these filthy Americans die." He looked defiantly at Kinch, and then Hogan.

Hogan had a hand on Wilson's trembling shoulder, gently reminding him not to react. Hogan caught Oscar's eye and raised an eyebrow. It was time.

" _Herr Doktor, Kommandant Klink,"_ Oscar's voice was smooth as silk. "Please allow me to help you with your little problem. Although I am just a animal doctor, I have long studied our beloved Fuhrer's teachings on how animal like the American's are. Bad breeding, mixed races. Why, their bloodlines are beneath even the pureblood German dogs I raise."

"Why bother yourself with this weak, skinny, runt of an American. I would gladly sacrifice my time and treat him so that such great men as yourselves will not have to bother with a lowly cur like him. He is worth less than a dog! Perhaps I shall be able to see him put down. Ja?"

Oscar laughed as the doctor smiled and nodded at the suggestion. Klink watched both men and played with his riding crop nervously.

"I agree, Wilhelm. _Herr_ Schnitzer is an excellent veterinarian. More than capable of caring for an American dog. Anyway, by the looks of him he won't be taking up space in your camp for long."

Newkirk jumped to his feet and Kinch rose to grab him and hold him back.

"You bloody bastards. Me mate Andrew's worth more than the whole lot of ya. You Germans are the bloody animals…"

"Newkirk!" Hogan shouted. "Stand down, man. Shut your trap and get back to the barracks to cool down, Go. Now."

Kinch whispered in Newkirk's ear, "Play along. It's an act."

Newkirk's blue eyes widened as he understood that his Colonel must have hatched a plan while he dozed. He shook himself free of Kinch's arms and went to Carter as all eyes were on him. He placed a brief kiss on Carter's brow and said softly, "You ain't no dog, mate. You are my best friend the best man I know." Carter let out a soft sound that was almost a word.

Newkirk made his way past the fuming German doctor and saluted Klink. "I'm sorry, Sir. I spoke outta turn. I'm just _that_ worried about me mate."

Klink cleared his throat and raised his head with forced dignity. He liked Carter quite a lot and never thought of the men under his care as less that brave soldiers like himself, who happened to be on the wrong side of yet another fruitless war. Klink was sincerely moved at Newkirk's show of loyalty and friendship, although he would never dream of saying so.

"Well, I'll forgive it this time, since you are clearly under duress. But if you insult _Herr_ Frankenmuth again, you will face thirty days in the cooler."

Frankenmuth huffed approvingly, as Newkirk saluted again and left quickly as the ambulance attendants came for Schultz.

Hogan released the death grip he had on Wilson's shoulder as the two let out quiet sighs. Hogan smiled reassuringly at Oscar who looked like he could use a few glasses, or even a whole bottle of Schnapps. Hogan knew just how he felt.

 _Great. Carter's safe for now. All I have left to do is steal some medical supplies, save three little boys from the Gestapo while keeping the operation secure, make up a sniper... and plan a funeral for a fine young soldier. Just another day at Stalag Thirteen._

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Eleven**

Sergeant Schultz and Dr. Frankenmuth were well on their way back to Hammelburg and Oscar was headed to the butcher shop where a worried father and three frantic boys waited for him. He was to return to "take care of" Carter and find out Hogan's plan for his boys the next morning. Klink returned to his office to study the odd Russian weapon used by the sniper.

Hogan had sent Kinch to radio London and say that Papa Bear was out of commission for a few days tending a sick cub, but no other information as of yet. He then ordered Kinch to monitor all Klink's phone calls and make sure he did not connect to General Burkholder's office or Gestapo headquarters. He also ordered Wilson to make sure everyone, including himself, got food and rest.

Hogan was left to watch over Carter. Private Muldoon brought some coffee and a sandwich for Hogan and stood for a moment by Tommy, silently promising a proper burial and service for his body while knowing in his heart that Tommy's spirit was rejoicing with God. He then volunteered to stand guard outside the infirmary in case Hogan needed anything.

Hogan ate the sandwich he couldn't taste, then reached for his coffee. Muldoon had brought the muddy brew in the blue tin cup that was Carter's favorite.

 _It matches his eyes. Those expressive, puppy dog eyes._

He drained the cup and set it down. He took Carter's hand and held it. It was cold. Hogan absently drew circles on it with his thumb to warm it, while thoughts tumbled through his mind.

 _Carter needs plasma and more medicine. I can let Wilson, go. Maybe with Kinch or LeBeau. But taking plasma and supplies when Carter obviously needs it will be tricky to cover up. I need to have a diversion. Some reason that someone else might be taking plasma. I need to keep the Gestapo out of the investigation. Hell, I even need to keep the Red Cross and London out of the investigation._

 _Tommy's superiors will demand to know who shot him if they knew. I know I would. Even if the good guys find out about the boys it still could expose Oscar. Maybe I need to make Klink think he should investigate the shooting himself. Then there's the Russian gun. If I could tie it all together somehow. And then there is Tommy's family. They don't even know what happened to him, if he is alive or dead._

Hogan spoke softly. "Oh, Andrew. I don't know about you, but I've got a splitting headache." Hogan closed his eyes and grimaced, then blinked his heavy eyelids a few times to try and throw off his weariness.

"You look so young and frail, son. Like a little boy tuckered out after a long day playing baseball. But I think you are more the fly fishing type. Yeah, I can see you sitting beside a fishing hole up there in the northern hinterlands with a reed fishing pole in your hands…"

Hogan laid his aching head down on Carter's bed to soothe it. He didn't mean to fall asleep still holding Carter's hand in his own.

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Twelve**

Carter lay on his back in a buffalo wallow, his arms and legs spread eagle in the indent made by itchy shedding buffalo rolling in the tall prairie grass. He had been walking with only the bees, birds and rabbits for company for what seemed like forever. But he wasn't a bit tired and not at all concerned.

He sat up, raising his eyes to the perfect blue sky and watched a lumbering buffalo and her calf munching white clover without a care a few feet away. The calf skipped and wandered over to Carter, stopped right in front of him and shook his shaggy head.

"Hey, little fella," Carter scratched the calf's chin beard and it stepped closer. The buffalo cow looked up unconcerned, chewing her cud. "You sure are a friendly little guy."

Carter rubbed his face in the calf's wiry brown curls. You smell like spring air right after the rain. Hum, that's weird, you should smell more like a… well you know.. a cow."

Carter looked around him. "Everything here smells fresh… and looks like I fell into a picture postcard." He examined his flight suit. It was bright white like the perfect clouds in the sky. He frowned, puzzled. "This isn't right, I was shot wasn't I? Where are the guys? Where is the War?"

"There you are, Little Deer! Come on! The fish are waiting, lazybones!" A tall boy dressed in a traditional Lakota buffalo skin regalia, waved one arm over his head the other held a pail and two reed fishing poles. His sun kissed face frowned and his long black hair braid swung with his movement.

"We will call you lazy deer if you don't move your butt!"

Carter's eyes widened in amazement, "Angry Rabbit? Angry Rabbit is it really you?"

"Who else? The others are already at the fishing hole! If all the fish are gone, I'll throw you in the water, slowpoke!"

"Oh, yeah? You and what tribe?" Carter giggled at his own lame joke.

Carter got to his feet to hurry after his cousin. He stopped a moment and returned to the buffalo calf to rub behind its silky ears, "Take care, little fella, don't eat too much!' The young calf snorted in reply.

Carter hesitated and looked into its soft brown eyes. "Your big brown eyes remind me of something, no, someone. Someone very important. Someone who cares about me, loves me even, wants me to return… return somewhere."

He absently rubbed the back of his flight suit. He had a vague memory of terrible pain and just as quickly it was gone. Carter shrugged it off and ran to join his cousin.

Carter couldn't remember actually walking to the fishing hole. It seems like he thought it and was immediately there. It was the most natural thing in the world. Four figures were there in the dappled sunlight, Two sat on rocks with fishing poles already in the water, and two figures stood by watching, arm in arm.

Carter's mind seemed to be taking things in slowly, he watched the two figures fishing. Angry Rabbit gave him a push, "Well? Say hello, knucklehead."

One of the fishing men stood and put down his pole. He was tall and handsome, with a dazzling smile, his Lakota heritage apparent in his shining black hair, cut short in a military style, and his dark eyes filled with emotion. He wore a white flight suit just like Carter.

The other fisherman looked up at Carter. His face was wrinkled from many years in the sun and his back bent from his years of toil. But his smile was warm and loving. The tunic and leggings he wore, crafted from buffalo skins, were the mellow color of aged hides. His wispy braided hair was white as the thistle down floating in the air above the fishing hole.

Carter recognized the lost members of his family. His older brother, Sammy, opened his arms as his Grandfather slowly made a hole in the damp soil to hold his reed pole. His grandfather nodded his head and chuckled to himself at the look on his grandson's face.

Carter's eyes widened, "Ciyewaye ki? Sammy?"

Carter ran to his older brother and was wrapped in his strong arms.

"Oh, cikala tahca, little deer. I have missed you so much. I have watched over you in that horrible camp. I am so proud of you, my brave, brave, little brother. You fight that insane war like a warrior of old and bring great honor to our family."

Carter pulled away slowly, and looked up at his big brother's face, the face he loved so dearly and missed every day. Carter's tears fell into the broad smile on his face. His heart too full for words He knelt before his Grandfather, who took Carter's face in his gnarled fingers and pulled him close to kiss the top of his head.

"Tunkashila, Gran'pa, I'm sorry I wasn't there when you… you died. I missed the funeral 'cause I was... you know… a prisoner of war. When I got Pops letter telling me you died, Peter, my friend Peter Newkirk, he stood with me under the full moon. I said a prayer for your spirit to find peace. Did you find peace, Tunkashila?"

"I did, cikala tahca. We have come to comfort you. We shall visit for a short time here. It is your cante tinza, your brave heart that has called us all here to you..Your cante tinza is weak now there in the earth realm. The brave men who love you are in despair. They need your heart to grow strong and beat with theirs. It is not yet time for you to join Sammy and I."

"But, Tunkashila, I want to stay with you and Sammy. It's nice here. I'm warm, I'm not hungry all the time, there is no war."

Carter's grandfather stroked his hair and smiled. "You are so loved, and your friends are risking their lives for you. Your friends would die to save you. Would gladly take your place and take your wounds upon themselves if they could. This is a great, great power you have produced. The strongest in the universe. Love."

"But Gran'pa, my friends are mean to me, they say mean things. Make me go down freezing cold wells and stuff."

Sammy laughed. "Cikala! These are men! Soldiers! Warriors! That's how you know they love you. They pick on you, but want you around them all the time to make them smile and to keep their eye on you, make sure you're safe. They make you do crazy things, but watch your back the whole time and risk their lives if you get in trouble. You know, just like I always treated you, numbskull."

Carter nodded slowly, realizing the truth in Sammy's words. Sammy took Carter's hand and pulled him to his feet. He brushed his knees, then gave him a nookie on the head. They both giggled.

Sammy's dark, stormy eyes met Carter's clear blue ones. "I know it's hard to be the little brother, but believe me, it's harder to be the big brother and watch your little brother suffer. From where I watch you, cikala tahca, it seems to me like you are surrounded by the best big brothers a guy could have."

Carter nodded and embraced his big brother again.

Angry Rabbit snorted. "Alright already with the feelings. Time is running out cousin and these guys are starting to fade."

Carter left his brother's arms and turned to look at two shimmering white forms standing near the shore of the fishing hole. One looked like a Russian soldier in a long, flowing white great coat and a hat of soft white fur. The other figure was a slight man with a crooked smile. He wore a white flight suit like Carter and his brother.

Carter instantly recognized him. "Tommy? Tommy Davis?"

"Yeah, Andrew. It's me. Well, what's left of me anyways. I got a favor to ask, buddy. Me and Vladimir Nevsky, here," Tommy patted Vladimir's misty arm, "We gotta message to give to Colonel Hogan. We was hopin' you'd go back and give it to him. It's real important."

"Da," said Vladimir in a deep vibrating voice. "Da, we need to give message then we will be on our way home."

"To… Brooklyn?" Carter puzzled.

"Naaaa," Tommy answered. "Someplace even better. To Heaven, I guess. I mean that's what they always say, ya know? Didn't think we'd make it, huh, Vlad?"

"Da," nodded Vladimir.

"Well, sure guys. I'll help you out. Boy, oh boy. The Colonel ain't gonna believe this. So what's this important message?"

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Thirteen**

Colonel Hogan snuggled closer to Carter in his sleep. He threw an arm across Carter's legs protectively while holding fast to his hand. He smiled while his dreams took him far away from his anxious bedside vigil.

Hogan dreamed he was sitting on a boulder beside a fishing hole. He didn't have a pole, which seemed strange to him. Although why he would have a fishing gear in the middle of a war was beyond him. He heard rustling in the cattails by the shore. A skinny rabbit popped out and hopped over to the Colonel. Hogan smiled as he took a close look at the rabbit's big, sky blue eyes and twitchy nose.

"Carter? Andrew, is that you?"

"Hey, hey, Colonel Hogan! Yeah, it's me!" Andrew Rabbit hopped up and down and thumped his hind leg in excitement.

"Andrew, I'm so glad you're okay! I mean, you're a rabbit, but what the heck. You look good. Rabbit suits you."

"Thanks, Colonel. I sure am sorry I got shot up and made ya so worried about me."

"Don't apologize. You're a hero. You saved Schultzy without a thought to your own safety. I always thought you were a hero, but you outdid yourself this time."

Andrew Rabbit hung his head. "Awww, shucks, Colonel. I ain't no hero. You and the guys, now you are heroes. Brave, smart, courageous. I'm just Andrew, the dopey one. Don't know why you even let me on the team. You'd be better off if I stayed a rabbit and got out of your hair. Get it? Hair, hare? That's funny!" Andrew Rabbit giggled.

Another rabbit bolted out of the cattails and grabbed Andrew Rabbit's paw. He was very angry. He stood up on his hind legs and glared at Hogan.

"Hey! What's the big idea comin' here and botherin' my cuz. Haven't you done enough damage to him? You made him feel bad and threw him down a well. You let him get perforated! Why should you get him back, ya big… bozo!"

Angry Rabbit yanked Andrew Rabbit's paw trying to get him to run back to their snug burrow beneath the cattails. Andrew resisted.

"Wait, Angry. This is my Colonel. I love him and trust him. I don't want to leave him here all alone."

"He doesn't care about you!" shouted Angry.

"I do so! Oh, I do so! You… you… shut your buck-toothed mouth, Angry Rabbit!" shouted Hogan.

"If you cared so much, why is Andrew dying on your watch? He should stay with me. I can keep him safe. How are you goin' to save him?" Angry threw back.

Andrew Rabbit shook free of his cousin's hold and hopped closer to Hogan. He raised his front paws and scratched at Hogan's pant leg, his big eyes pleading to be picked up. Hogan reached down and picked Andrew up. He held him close and used one hand to pet his soft ears. Andrew blinked a few times and snuggled, enjoying the warmth of his Colonel's hands on his ears and tummy.

"Colonel?" Andrew asked. "Do you really care about me?"

"Of course I do Andrew. I care about you very, very much. You are so good; good for the team too. The team loves you like a little brother. I think of you as my boy, my son. I love you, Andrew. I'm sorry I ever let you think otherwise. Please don't die, Andrew."

Andrew Rabbit blinked his eyes slowly at his Colonel. "I… I'll try. Col'nel."

Carter's eyelids felt like lead as he fought the weariness pulling at him. But he fought all the harder , knowing his Colonel needed him to wake up.

"It's alright, Col'nel."

Hogan was drawn from sleep by the soft voice he so wanted to hear. He sat up straight and patted the hand he still held.

"Andrew! You're awake! How are you feeling, son? Do you have any pain?"

Carter smiled. "Don't feel much."

"Well, don't try to move. Just lie still. You want some water?"

Carter nodded.

Hogan rushed to the small metal table where Wilson kept a pitcher of water and several glasses. He stopped to open the front door and call to Private Muldoon. "Carter's awake. Go get Wilson."

Muldoon hurried away as Hogan brought the water to Carter.

"Easy now, Andrew. Let me do the work." Hogan gently raised Carter's head just enough to make it easy for him to swallow.

"Thanks, Colonel." Carter said weakly when he had enough.

Hogan laid his head back on the pillow. He put down the glass and took Carter's hand again. He thought perhaps he needed the contact more than Carter did.

"Andrew, do you remember what happened?"

"I think so. I saw the flash of a gun outside the fence. Tommy?"

"I'm sorry, Andrew. Tommy died instantly," Hogan murmured softly, dreading to inflict any more pain on the sensitive, wounded man.

Andrew closed his eyes and looked away. After a silent moment he opened them again and looked at his Colonel. "He… he was a good man and talented too. I'm sorry he's gone. I… I made him a present, now…" Carter took another silent moment as his lips trembled. "What about Schultz? Where is he?"

"He's fine. He was shot in the lower leg, but it was a clean wound. Klink sent him to the hospital to be safe. We kept you here so _we_ could keep _you_ safe."

Carter nodded and tightened his grip on Hogan's hand. He could see the anguish in his eyes.

"How bad am I, Sir?"

Hogan placed his other hand on Carter's brow and gently brushed back some errant strands of hair.

"You took two bullets, Andrew. One to the shoulder and one in the back. Wilson operated and it went well. Not too much damage. All you need to do now is rest and get your strength back. You won't have to lift a finger. We'll take care of everything. We'll take care of you."

Carter smiled and turned his head a little to better see his Colonel. He coughed and closed his eyes to fight the wave of pain the movement sent through his body. Hogan put the glass of water to his lips again but Carter shook his head and tried to stifle another cough.

"Wilson will be here soon to give you another shot for your cold and your pain."

Carter gave Hogan half a smile and a look full of trust. Hogan thought of his dream and the innocent Andrew Rabbit he wanted to protect from harm.

"Andrew. I… I can't tell you how sorry I am. How sorry we all are for sending you down that well. I was wrong, son. I should have thought of another way… or gone myself."

Carter cleared his throat carefully. "No, Colonel. I know you're sorry I got sick, but I acted like a spoiled brat. It's an honor to work for you. It's an honor to be an unsung hero. I should have remembered that and quit my grousin'. You guys mean the world to me. If I can help in any way, even by being the little brother you all need to pick on and make you smile. I'm proud to do it."

Hogan did smile at that. "When did you get so smart, Andrew? Maybe you've been the smartest hero all along."

Carter just squeezed Hogan's hand and closed his eyes again.

Hogan grew concerned. "You tired out, buddy? Why don't you give in to it and go back to sleep. You won't ever be alone. Someone will be here every time you wake up."

Carter shook his head slowly without opening his eyes. He wrinkled his brow.

"No sleeping," he said softly. "I gotta message to give you from Tommy and Vladimir. It's very important."

"Tommy and Vladimir? Andrew, you need to rest, now. You must have been dreaming…"

The night must have been full of dreams.

"No!" Carter's eyes flew open. "I remember. Vladimir Nevsky. He was the only other POW who died in this camp. Buried his gun under a tree and allowed himself to be captured 'cause he was real sick. He was planning to pick it up later when he tried to escape. He died that night. Nothing anyone could do. It was _his_ gun Little Wolfie shot me with."

"Andrew how on earth do you know this? How do you know who shot you? And Vladimir Nevsky. That happened when I first arrived, before I started our operation. I remember the Russians in camp burying him. His body is still here buried in the northwest corner of the camp. The Russians keep up the grave. Planted wild sunflowers there and made a three barred Russian cross out of discarded wood for his grave… but how did you know his name? How did you know about the Russian gun?"

"Vlad told me. He said to tell you to spin a tale about Vladimir the undead and his thirst for blood. He said he would be honored to be included in one of your ingenious plans. Vlad has been lost and trying to find his way home. Till Tommy joined him. Tommy knew the way home, but stopped to bring poor Vladimir with him."

"Tommy said he'd be happy to be buried with Vlad under the sunflowers. It doesn't matter to him if you let his family think him lost. His family will know where to find him, painting visions for his heavenly father. Someday the truth will be uncovered and his family will be very proud to know that he was one of Hogan's unsung heroes."

Carter's voice had taken on a sing-song dreamy lilt that mesmerized the usually pragmatic colonel. Hogan shook his head when Carter's story ended. Carter's eyes drooped to closed, his face pale and his breathing shallow.

"Andrew?"

Carter was asleep. Hogan straightened his covers and waited for Wilson. He had a lot to think about.

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Fourteen**

Wilson, Kinch, LeBeau and Newkirk hurried to the infirmary when Muldoon told them Carter was awake. Wilson opened the door and the four men entered as quietly as four over-anxious soldiers could. Hogan stood and relinquished his seat to Wilson who immediately started checking Carter's vital signs.

"He woke up and spoke to me, Scotty. I gave him some water."

Wilson was all business. "I don't like his blood pressure. I think just waking up wore him out. Damn! He needs that plasma."

Kinch thought Carter looked worse. "Was he coherent, Colonel?"

"Yeah," added Newkirk. "Did 'e sound like 'imself?"

LeBeau watched Wilson listening to Carter's breathing and looked afraid for his friend.

"Sure, guys, sure. He sounded just fine. He must have had quite a dream. He drifted off again telling me about it. Gave me an idea, though."

The three remaining team members looked at Hogan. They knew their leader well enough to know he'd come up with some crazy, ingenious plan.

Wilson pulled his stethoscope out of his ears. "Hogan, I've got to go to the hospital and get that plasma for Andrew. I'll go alone. It won't take me long. I'll be fine…"

"Wilson, I have all intentions of letting you go, but you do it my way and not alone."

"What's goin' on Gov'nor?" Newkirk interrupted. "Somethin's wrong, ain't it? Andrew has to be alright. Gov'nor?"

Hogan sighed as he placed a hand on Newkirk's shoulder and squeezed. "Carter is part Sioux and he has a rare blood type," he explained to the small group. "Although he can't get a transfusion, he can have plasma. With enough plasma and the medicine Wilson has him on, he should pull through."

"If I get my hands on that filthy boche sniper I will kill him with my bare hands!" Lebeau's passionate spirit showed itself through clenched teeth.

"The sniper wasn't a German soldier, LeBeau. It was an accident. Schnitzer's boy and his young friends found a gun and played with it. It went off."

The diminutive Frenchman then covered his hand with his mouth and swore softly. "Mon Dieux! Des enfants!"

"Blimey!" cried Newkirk. "Just tykes playin' and a man's dead and another…" He shook his head unable to go on.

Kinch caught on immediately. "Colonel, if the Gestapo hears of this and frightens those boys, it could blow our operation! And Carter . . . If they find out his blood is special, they might take him for experiments! Colonel! We can't let them get Andrew!"

Hogan held up his hands as all four men started to talk anxiously at once.

"Hold it, men! I've got a plan." The room grew quiet at his emphatic command.

"Kinch? You got someone to monitor Klink's calls?"

"Yes, Sir. Baker's on it. He won't let a call go through"

"Good. Newkirk? We still have that Baron's opera cape?"

"Sure, Sir. Got the monkey suit, and the 'at, spats and gloves to go with."

"Great! Get Kinch into it. LeBeau, you and Wilson will be heading out to do some shopping at the hospital later tonight. Wilson? I need a light sedative to give Klink in a glass of Schnapps. I don't want to knock him out just make him open to suggestions."

"Got just the thing, Hogan, but what…"

Hogan cut Wilson off with a mischievous smile, turned back to Kinch and folded his arms.

"Sergeant Kinchloe? How's your Russian accent?"

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Fifteen**

Hogan stealthly opened the barracks door and peered out at the moonlit evening. The camp was quiet and in order. There was a hint of rain on the blustery wind and all around the camp the forest trees were shaking their branches. Billows of newly released leaves filled the air and made their way over the barbed wire and into the camp. The sound of haunting winds and rustling leaves brought to mind ghost stories about witches curses and phantoms in the shadows. Hogan gave half a smile to the weather for cooperating with his plan.

"All clear, Kinch." Hogan whispered over his shoulder. Then Hogan opened the door a little wider to let the big man out.

"You sure this will work, Colonel?"

Hogan took Kinch's arm and dragged him into the shadows to check his appearance. Kinch was wearing an old fashioned tuxedo and a long, black silk opera cape with a standing collar. The black fedora that adorned his head was set jauntily to the front, hiding most of his brow and shielding his eyes.

"Sure, I'm sure. Have I ever steered you wrong?" Kinch rolled his eyes as Hogan straightened Kinch's bow tie and brushed his hands over Kinch's cape. "You just hide in Klink's bedroom. Easy as bobbin' for apples."

"I was never good at that game. Always got my face pushed into the tub of water by my cousin," Kinch moaned.

Hogan frowned as he confessed, "Yeah, me too." Then he brightened again. "But this is a cinch, I promise."

KInch shook his head. "Why do I think Wilson and LeBeau got the easier job? All they have to do is a little breaking and entering."

Hogan snorted, "Yeah, avoiding German patrols, security guards, a hospital full of people…"

Kinch nodded enthusiastically. "See? Much easier than dealing with Klink!"

"You have a point there," Hogan conceded. "Come on, we got to get a move on. Pull your cape over your face and look down. Let's see the full effect."

Kinch sighed and scowled at his crazy Colonel.

"Good, that's good, Kinch. You're definitely frightening me."

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Sixteen**

"Hogan? Why are you here? You know you are not supposed to leave your barracks after dark. What do you want?"

Klink spoke from behind a mountain of paperwork he was trying to catch up on. Berlin cared little for what went on in Klink's camp as long as the paperwork was in order and Klink meant to stay under the radar as much as possible.

"Kommandant, I must say, a lesser man would be cowering under his desk on a night like this, but you truly are the Iron Eagle. Nerves of steel. Heart of a lion…"

"Hogan? What are you going on about?"

"Well, tomorrow is Halloween."

"Yes? So?" Klink adjusted his monocle and pursed his lips as if he'd bitten into a lemon.

"So? So this is the night. The night before Halloween…"

"Hooooogan!"

"You know, Sir. The night when Vladimir Nevsky walks the night seeking blood. The blood that will change him from the undead and finally release his spirit so it may rest in peace."

"Hogan, what on earth are you talking about? Wait… Vladimir Nevsky. That name. Yes, yes. That was the name of that poor Russian fellow that died of pneumonia a few years back. That was not my fault." Klink straightened self-righteously in his chair. "If he had turned himself in when his plane crashed, I would have taken him into our little camp with open arms."

"Then you know."

"Know what? What do I know?"

"The tale. The tale of Vlad the undead who haunts this camp and Hammelburg every year the night before Halloween. The same night he died."

Hogan dropped his voice and he stepped closer to the Kommandant's desk.

"He's looking for someone to show him the way to peace. Vlad searches for blood, hoping to find another spirit who died like he did to show him the way. Every year, on this night, strange things happen. People disappear. Bodies disappear and empty vessels that once held blood are drained dry by his thirst. He's well known in town."

For a moment the German officer was held spellbound by his own prisoner, then shook himself. "Hogan, that is ridiculous. Do you mean to tell me that you believe this camp is haunted by a Russian prisoner?"

Hogan turned his back on Klink and helped himself to some brandy without even bothering to ask. He poured a glass for Klink and emptied a small packet of opium into it. When he spun around to hand Klink his doctored glass of brandy he plastered a look of wide eyed terror on his face.

"All I know, Sir, is three men were wounded today with Vladimir Nevsky's hidden gun and one has died. Coincidence? I think not. Who would want to shoot at Germans and Americans? Nothing else makes sense."

Klink's face paled as he drained his glass. "It does fit all the pieces of the puzzle… but Hogan, a...a… ghost? Shooting a gun?"

Hogan sipped his brandy and peered at Klink over the rim. "Explains why your guards and dogs never found the sniper. Your guards would never have missed a mortal man."

Klink nodded. "True. That is true." Then he giggled. "I'm glad I never reported the incident. Old Tubby Burkholder would send me to the looney bin… at the Russian front."

Klink giggled some more, set down his glass and placed a companionable arm around Hogan. "You know, Hogan, Robert, Robby. May I call you Robby?"

"You can call me anything you want as long as I'm holding a glass of your brandy."

"You always are looking out for me. You care about your Kommandant. I wish you were German because I would make you my bestest friend," Klink's arm around Hogan's shoulder grew slowly heavier. "Do you want to be German, Robby? Maybe I could adopt you…"

"Oh, boy. I think you look tired Willy. Is it okay if I call you Willy? Why don't I lock up and see you to your quarters so the ghosts won't get you. Alrighty?"

Hogan removed Klink's arm and led him away.

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Seventeen**

Kinch hid in the shadows behind the door of Klink's bedroom. He watched and tried not to laugh as Hogan got Klink ready for bed, setting his monocle on the nightstand. Klink was giggling and hanging off Hogan seemingly making plans for them to live together after the war. The Kommandant had apparently decided Switzerland would be nice for a little shared villa for the American and German expatriates.

Hogan caught Kinch's eye and dared him to smirk. But smirk he did. It almost made what he was about to do seem less distasteful.

Kinch received a thumbs up from his Colonel as he left. Kinch waited till Klink was almost asleep, then moaned as deeply as he could.

"Ohhhhhh. Klink, Klink. KLINK!"

Klink sat up in bed pulling his blanket up to his chin.

"It is I, Vladimir Nevsky and I am full of sorrow."

"Vlad… Vladimir? Is it you?" The Kommandant narrowed his eyes and peered into the darkness. I… I'm sorry you died in my camp. But you know I had nothing to do…"

"SILENCE!"

"Yes, yes! I will be quiet. Hushing. Hushing now, yes."

"I have walked this weary night drinking blood and I have finally found what I seek."

"No, no, no, no, no! You don't want to kill me!" Klink whined, terrified. "I can't help you rest in peace. I… I… I am quite annoying and I snore. No, no peace with me around."

"I am here because I am lost. I cannot find my way home. I walk these Autumn woods and yearn for the crisp clarity of an infinite Russian winter." Kinch intoned from the shadows. "I need to take the American I killed, Thomas was a good man and a brave soldier and he will show me the path to eternal rest. I will take his body and spirit and you will say nothing. If you fight me or tell anyone what I have done, I will return and drink your blood, then take your cold stiff body as a replacement.

"Do not disturb my grave," Kinch ordered. "Leave me to rest under the sunflowers that remind me of my blessed mother Russia. Do you understand?"

"Yes. Vladimir, I understand. I want you to find peace… and never return… for all eternity. That would be good. I promise you I'll cancel any and all investigations into the matter… they wouldn't believe me anyway."

"Good. Then close your eyes and sleep the sleep of the righteous. Be fair and show kindness for your charges as you have in the past and perhaps some day I will meet you again in a place where war does not exist and in peace we shall be friends."

The brandy had done it's job. Klink had no trouble falling asleep at Kinch's command. When he was snoring, Kinch slipped out of his quarters to join Hogan at Vladimir's grave.

Kinch stood next to Hogan and both men clasped their hands in front of them in respect, looking down at the freshly overturned soil of the gravesite. Private Mike Muldoon's head was hanging over his prayer book, his lips moving in silent prayer.

A young Russian soldier had replanted wild sunflowers on the grave. Tommy had befriended the Russian using his drawings to bridge the language barrier. They had spent a few hours laughing at Tommy's drawings and catching a brief glimpse into each other's homeland. The Russian straightened the wooden Russian cross that served as a headstone before returning to his barracks to hold a small memorial with his Russian comrades for Vladimir and Tommy.

Hogan whispered in Kinch's ear, "Everything go alright?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm sure I convinced him to let the whole incident be buried with Vladimir. Is Davis…?"

"Yes… he's with Vladimir. Muldoon anointed the body, did everything he could to give Corporal Davis a dignified and spiritual burial. Even if his final resting place is this stinking…"

"Don't, Colonel. I feel the same way. Davis should be on one of the planes he loved returning to his family with full honors and a twenty-one gun salute. It's horrible that a mother doesn't know where her boy lies for eternity. But I keep thinking. What if it were Carter…"

Hogan shuddered and brought a hand up to cover his eyes. "Kinch… please."

"No, listen. If it were Carter, we would _know_ that he would rather save the operation than be sent home with honors. He would be proud that his last act was for the team, that he put one final nail in _Hitler's_ coffin. I didn't know Tommy, but I think he was the same sort. We can be proud of him. He's an unsung hero now and none of us will ever forget his sacrifice. I know I won't."

Hogan sighed and threw an arm around Kinch, pulling him close for a moment. "Come on, buddy. Let's get you changed. I know it was hard on you, even if you never showed it. Now we need to concentrate on getting Carter well."

"Muldoon!" Hogan called as he reached out toward the man with his other arm. "Thank you, Mike. Maybe Tommy deserved a better service, but none could have been more heartfelt."

Muldoon crossed himself and entered Hogan's embrace. "Thanks, Colonel. I know Tommy woulda liked it. He suspected you guys were up to somethin', I didn't tell him different. He told me he was wantin' to work with all of youse if he got a chance and now he kinda has."

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Eighteen**

Wilson and LeBeau hurriedly filled their canvas bags with supplies from the hospital's pharmacy. They wore surgical scrubs, caps and masks over their black-out gear. Wilson had gotten them inside in a flash and knew where everything was kept. He also knew every lock and every open window in the place. LeBeau was impressed and felt strangely secure. Like he was in the presence of a master. On the other side of the building, near the doctors offices and as far away from patients as possible, smoke bombs courtesy of Carter's store were doing their job of distracting the guards and staff of the hospital.

LeBeau opened an ice box filled with blood bags. He swallowed and averted his eyes, the sight making him slightly sick. "Wilson," he called in a hushed voice, "I found the… you know."

Wilson finished filling his bag with pharmaceuticals and bandages, taking just what he needed and making sure to leave enough for any of the hospital's patients wants. With luck and Hogan's ingenious diversion, the theft might not be noticed for a few days.

Wilson came over to the ice box and peered inside. "Here, Lebeau. Take this bag for a moment and watch the door. This is going to get messy and I don't want you getting queasy on me."

LeBeau nodded, feeling embarrassed, but thankful that Wilson understood his distaste for the sight of blood. LeBeau went to the door, opened it a crack and focused on the hallway.

Wilson took out all the plasma Carter would need and three bags of blood. The first bag of blood he opened and poured a small amount into a coffee mug sitting at a receptionists desk. The rest he drained into the sink, rinsing away any traces of red left on the white porcelain. He threw the empty bag haphazardly on the floor, where small droplets stained the perfectly clean tile.

He opened the next bag and placed next to the mug like a gory jug of red wine. The last bag he violently threw against the wall, letting blood drip and splatter everywhere. The effect was ghastly. Lastly, he took a pair of men's white opera gloves and dropped them into the puddling blood on the floor. Wilson looked at his display and nodded his approval.

"Well, that sure looks like a crazy blood suckin' ghosty was here."

Lebeau glanced over his shoulder, then closed his eyes and shivered. "Gruesome," he concurred. "Remind me to never go on a mission with you again, will you?"

Wilson chuckled softly, took Lebeau's arm leading him away from Vladimir's blood bar, and safely into the blustery night.

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Nineteen**

Newkirk was more than worried. He sighed and glanced wearily at the stove over the entrance to the tunnel under the infirmary. Hogan had popped his head in a few minutes before to let him know Kinch was safely back behind his radio and all had gone well. Newkirk's news that Carter was restless but hadn't awakened, put a few more worry lines on the Colonel's face.

Hogan went back into the tunnels to wait for Wilson and LeBeau who were due to return shortly if all went well. Newkirk sighed again. He hated it when LeBeau or any of the guys went on a mission without him, but he felt strongly that Carter needed him more. Even if it was just to whisper to him over and over that he wasn't alone.

Newkirk patted Carter's hand and thought he was a little cold, so he gathered the threadbare blankets from the extra cot and covered him, taking great care not to jostle him and cause him pain. Newkirk settled in the uncomfortable wooden desk chair borrowed from Klink's office, closed his tired red rimmed eyes for a moment. and he had started to doze when he heard a quiet sound that brought him to full awareness faster than a brass band could have.

"Pe… ter?"

"Hey, sleepin' beauty! Oh, yeah. You got the life, lazin' about. While the rest of us…" Carter's eyes met Newkirk's with such a lost look, Newkirk couldn't bear to tease him. Newkirk took Carter's hand and squeezed.

"There, there, dearheart. It's all good 'ere. You're gonna be right as rain in no time."

"Pe… ter? I got shot up bad, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you remember that?"

"I… I… think so. Everything's fuzzy like. I can't think straight. Am I dreamin' you?"

Newkirk chuckled, "No, mate you better not be dreamin' about old Newkirk. That would be more like a nightmare, don't ya think so?"

"I guess. But I'm glad you're here. You can tell me if I'm dreamin' or not."

"Where else would I be. How ya feelin' mate?"

Carter tried to move and thought better of it as pain shot through his body. "Ohhh… Peter, it hurts…"

"None a that now. Don't you be moving around." Newkirk leaned in and brushed Carter's hair away from his pain filled eyes, "You're real weak right now. You lost a lot of blood, but Wilson will be here soon and remedy all that. Till then you just tell me anything you need."

Carter looked at Newkirk like he was trying to understand one of LeBeau's passionate French speeches.

"You want some water, Andrew?"

Carter nodded once and closed his eyes. In a few moments Carter felt a gentle hand holding his head up and a soothing coolness flowing down his throat. He swallowed gratefully and opened his eyes a little wider and with a bit more alertness than before.

"Thanks, buddy. Boy, does that ever taste sweet. Ever notice if you're real thirsty even yucky water taste sweet? It's like your mouth is so happy it makes you smile sugar…"

Carter stopped at Newkirk's laughter. "Blimey, mate. I sure missed your blabbermouth. Like music to me ears, that sound."

Carter smiled a half smile, then frowned as though he remembered something important. Newkirk took his hand again immediately.

"What is it, Andrew? Is the pain too much? Wilson said I could give you morphine if you need it, but I just hate you to go away so soon. I missed ya mate. I…"

"Peter? I saw Tommy and Vladimir just before I woke and saw you. They were so happy. Vladimir said to thank Private Muldoon for his prayer. They wanted to tell everyone thank you for making their deaths mean something important. The prayers sent them to the light. It was such a beautiful light. Golden and blue and white all at the same time. There was peace there. Peace and no war, no pain. I really want to go there, Peter."

Carter sounded so weak and looked so frail that his words were deeply disturbing. Newkirk wondered how Carter seemed to know about Hogan's plan. The light Carter's described sounded so peaceful, he considered letting him go, but for only a moment. He shook away the idea, tears brimming in his eyes.

"Listen to me, Andrew. I don't want you anywhere near that light. It ain't your time, you 'ear me!"

"Peter, my brother is there and I'm so very tired. He loves me. He'll take good care of me."

"Damnit, Andrew. I'm your ruddy brother too and _I_ need you. Colonel Hogan needs you _. We_ bloody love ya, _all_ of us!"

"You do?"

"Andrew, please, Stop muckin' about. Promise me you'll stay here with me, with us. You stay away from that bloody light. You promise me!" Newkirk's voice was full of tears.

Newkirk felt the hand in his give a weak squeeze then go limp. Carter turned his head slowly and spoke right to Newkirk's heart.

"Don't cry, buddy. I'll stay with you. I promise."

Carter closed his eyes just as the stove over the tunnel was pushed aside and an out of breath Wilson lifted himself into the infirmary followed by Hogan and the stolen medical supplies.

"What happened, Newkirk?" Hogan's heart skipped a beat at the look on Newkirk's face. Wilson grabbed the supplies, started to hook up the plasma bag to Carter's IV and check Carter's vital signs.

Newkirk stood shakily to give Wilson room. Hogan put a hand on Newkirk's shoulder to steady him. Newkirk shook his head trying to compose himself enough to speak, but Wilson interrupted.

"Carter's starting to go into shock. His blood pressure is too low. Not enough blood to circulate correctly. Thank God you were here, Peter. You kept him from giving in to it. He's got the plasma now, just in time. He should come out of it in an hour or so. Good work, Peter."

Hogan said softly, "Was he awake? What happened, Peter?"

Newkirk cleared his throat, "Andrew woke up, but was real weak. 'e seemed to be alright, but sort of somewhere else too. 'e thought 'e was dreamin.'"

"Well, that sounds like shock. It's a good thing you kept him aware." Wilson nodded.

Newkirk turned to his Colonel. "I… he… he was talkin' about following Vladimir and Tommy into a peaceful golden light. Said they wanted to thank you, Sir. Wanted to thank Private Muldoon for his prayers. Andrew said he… wanted to follow them… find his brother… I… I told him he better bloody well stay here. How did he know, Sir? About Muldoon and the burial? Did I do the right thing makin' 'im promise to stay? 'e's 'urtin' real bad. Maybe I shoulda…"

"Peter. It's alright. Of course you did the right thing. We'll help Carter get back to his old self. I don't know if Carter is in touch with the other side. We may all be turning into lunatics under a Halloween moon. But you were right. He belongs to us, right here and right now and I for one am not letting him go anywhere without a fight."

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Twenty**

Halloween dawn broke in a flurry of leaves spiraling and landing, bright and colorful on the dull ground of the camp. General Burkholder's car barrelled through the gate, sending the fallen leaves back into the air for a final flight.

Kinch was watching from outside the infirmary having just given up Carter watch to LeBeau. Wilson had assured Kinch that Carter's vitals were good and he was sleeping a healing sleep. LeBeau planned to read a racy paperback to Carter in French while he slept, guaranteed to raise your blood pressure, if you understood the language.

Kinch, knowing Carter was in good hands, entered Barracks Two. He stopped at Newkirk's bunk to give him a shake and a nod towards Hogan's door. Kinch knocked and on Hogan's tired, "Come in," entered and reached for the coffee pot radio.

"Burkholder," was all he needed to say.

Kinch tuned in the radio to listen in on Klink's office. Hogan and Newkirk gathered near, so as to not miss a word.

 _Always a pleasure, General Burkholder, may I offer you some coffee? My secretary has brought me a pumpkin cake in honor of the season. Perhaps a sliver?_

 _I am not here to socialize, Klink. I have heard a disturbing rumor and I wish to find out if it is true._

 _Rumor? About what?_

 _The rumor which comes from a unfailable source, my wife, is that you have had a double murder here in the camp._

 _What? My dear General, I assure you…_

 _Yes, yes. I thought as much. I think someone is playing a Halloween trick on my dear, gullible wife. She told me a spooky story of a Russian prisoner who died here long ago killed another in order to steal his soul. The rumor was fueled by a story of a vampire getting into the stores of blood at the hospital. I think perhaps the local youth need some special guidance. The Fuhrer does not believe in ghosts and neither do I._

 _Oh, I also do not believe in ghosts, or vampires, or Russian POW's searching for..._

 _Enough, Klink! I am satisfied. Where is Sergeant Schultz? He usually greets me. I had to open my own door and I wish him to carry something out to the car for me._

 _Poor Schultz, he fell… um… off the roof… hurt his… ankle. I allowed him to go home to his wife just yesterday after a brief trip to the hospital. I can recall him if the General…_

 _No, let the man mend. Next time send a prisoner to do repairs on the roof. Or better yet, do it yourself._

 _Certainly, Herr General. Of course, should have thought of that myself, but that is why you are a Gen…_

 _Klink! I am going now. I shall need you to carry something out to the car for me in Schultz's stead._

 _Of course, General. My pleasure, General. What do you wish me to carry for you, General?_

 _Your secretary's pumpkin cake, Klink._

Kinch pulled the plug on the coffee pot, silencing the German leaders. Newkirk and Kinch both stared with amazement at Hogan.

Hogan's eyes opened wide and his voice came out a little squeaky.

"It worked! The plan worked. They bought it!"

Kinch chuckled. "It doesn't make me feel warm and fuzzy to hear that you are surprised, Sir."

"Now, Kinch," Newkirk scolded, "I never thought for a second that the Gov'nor's plan was balmy. 'ours maybe, but never a second."

"Come on you guys. I have to believe my plans will work. I'm just as amazed as you when they actually _do_ work."

Newkirk rolled his eyes, "That instills confidence, I think I'll 'itch a ride on the next submarine 'eading back to London, Gov."

"I got a better idea. Let's visit Carter and bring Wilson and LeBeau some pumpkin cake."

"But the General stole it, Sir, " Kinch reminded him.

"Ah, but I received my own as a treat this morning. Klink's secretary likes my tricks.

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Twenty-One**

Coffee, cake, and Carter's vastly improved vitals had the infirmary full of cheer and happy banter.

"Gee whiz, what's a guy got to do around here to get some sleep? What are you all doin' in my room anyway?"

Carter's, voice, though still weak, was like music to the ears of his brothers. It was shakey, but it was all Carter. Cheers all around made Carter smile.

"Andrew!" Colonel Hogan's face broke out in a grin. "You're awake!"

"Yes, Sir. Hey! Where's _my_ cake? No fair having a party without me."

Wilson smiled and patted the bag of plasma. "You've got your treat right here, son. And it seems to have done the trick."

Carter made a puzzled face, "Did… did I miss Halloween?"

Newkirk sat down next to Carter and took his hand, "Naaa, mate! It's tonight. We just got a reason to celebrate now!"

"How are you feeling, Andrew?" asked Kinch.

"Well, I feel kinda dopey. And sleepy."

"And all the rest of the dwarves, I suppose," quipped Hogan.

Carter chuckled, then turned serious. "I… I want to thank all of you. I… I'm not sure what happened around here, but I am sure you all put your lives on the line to save mine. I bet the Colonel even came up with one of his crazy schemes just for me."

"You got that right," muttered LeBeau.

"I'm sorry I was mad at you guys before… before…"

Newkirk squeezed Carter's arm. "Hey, you're bringin' the party down, mate. We're the one's who ought to be 'pologizin'. Andrew, we never should have taken you for granted. You are important to us. I'm sorry you never knew that."

Carter's eyelids started to droop. His voice became just a whisper. "Awwww, I love you guys. Can I have some cake?" But he was asleep before he got an answer.

"I think we wore him out," Wilson said softly. "He's a brave fella, but he has a lot of healing yet o do."

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Twenty-Two**

 **Stalag Thirteen, Halloween, one year later.**

It was warm for late October in Germany. The changing leaves seemed more vibrant than the years before. But the camp was still dusty and gray. The sun reflected off the barbed wire fence in a mockery of nature's freedom.

Carter sat whittling a new piece with the knife Newkirk had pinched from yet another guard and given to Carter as yet another apology for something he said and didn't mean, which Carter had already forgiven and forgotten. Carter no longer sat out in the open on the boulder he used to frequent. He no longer needed to get away from his brothers - the brothers he would give his life for, the brothers he loved and that he knew loved him. But sometimes he liked to visit with Tommy and Vladimir, so that they knew they were not forgotten.

Carter sat on a bench handmade by Oscar and his boy, Kurt, and placed in the garden by the lone grave in the northwest corner of the camp. Kurt, Rudy and Wolfie had planted the memorial garden so that Carter would have a pleasant place to sit in the sun while he recovered. The spot that once held just a few sunflowers, now bloomed with roses, peonies, zinnias and many other flowers Carter had never seen before.

Carter stopped his whittling and let his eyes wander about the beautiful garden. Here, rabbits and butterflies were free to come and go as they pleased, while Carter remained a prisoner of the wire. But the freedom denied him was a price he gladly paid in order to work with the unsung heroes and know he made a difference in the world.

Carter thought back over the last year. It hadn't been easy. The first month was jumbled in his mind. Fever and infection had plagued him. He hazily remembered trying to figure out what had happened to him and what his friends did to save him. Mostly he remembered pain and Wilson's needles, then oblivion. He recalled listening to his friends read to him, tell him the latest news and trying to remember what day it was and why his friends were looking so sad on the days when he had no idea why he was in the infirmary at camp.

He remembered waking one day and seeing a small pine tree sparkling with ornaments. Piles of presents all for him were placed under it by Santa's many willing helpers. It was Christmas morning and he sobbed. He hadn't made any presents for anyone. Newkirk held him in his arms and told him it was alright. That Andrew Carter, alive and getting stronger by the day was the only present any of them wanted.

Soon after Christmas, Carter finally beat the ever present threat of pneumonia and infection. Wilson took him off the drugs completely and he began to feel like himself again. The pain was nearly gone, but he was still weak. But Kinch came by everyday and helped him walk around the infirmary. When he was able to walk on his own for a full ten minutes, Wilson allowed him to return to Barracks Two.

That's when the mother-henning started in full force. Carter smiled at the recollection. He'd go to bed with one skimpy blanket like everyone else and wake up warm and cozy under four. Extra Red Cross rations found their way to Carter's footlocker all on their own. LeBeau made heartwarming soups just for him and his hand was never without a mug of hot tea or cocoa. Newkirk knitted him a scarf and put a new wool liner in his battered old coat. Kinch kept track of how long Carter worked in his lab and set up a cot for him in the radio alcove. When he napped even the demons of pain and nightmares were afraid to make an appearance under Kinch's watchful eye.

Schultz became his beneficent uncle, following him around, doing his chores and bringing him wooden puzzles and toys he made himself. Even Klink excused him from roll call on the coldest days of the winter. When he caught a cold in February, you would have thought he was a four star General, the way everyone fussed.

The memory that most warmed his heart came a week after he recovered from his cold. Hogan took him aside said he wanted to send him home as soon as the weather was warm enough for him to safely travel. Hogan told Carter how proud he was and what a pleasure and honor it was to work with such a fine, creative and dedicated soldier. Of course, Carter refused. But the words, coming from a man he respected above all others, were a balm to his soul and he treasured them.

Come spring he was back on missions, although never without a shadow at his back. On one occasion in June, Carter got too close to an explosion and was knocked out for a few minutes. Hogan and Kinch helped him home and besides a blasted headache he was fine.

When Newkirk heard about it, he yelled at Carter for a solid fifteen minutes, till Carter thought his brain would explode like the bridge had earlier. Carter finally lost his temper and told Newkirk he had to let him go, let him live and let him die if that was in the cards.. Then Carter remembered Sammy's words that it was harder to be a big brother watching your little brother suffer. Carter saw Hogan roll his eyes as two minutes later he was embracing Newkirk, each murmuring apologies to the other.

Little brother had grown up.

After that things returned to normal, although Carter still tired easily and had to dress warmly because he was always cold and his big brothers continued to keep spare eyes on him. But summer brought a substantial healing of body and soul.

Carter watched a rabbit eating ripened sunflower seeds without a care in the world. A year had past and he had survived. He had a strange feeling that his job here was coming to an end. That any day now the war would end and Carter and his brothers would walk out the front gate together.

"I'll never forget you, Tommy. Or you Vladimir."

The rabbit scampered away and Carter went back to his whittling.

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Twenty-Three**

 **The former site of Stalag Thirteen, present day**

The air at the dig felt electrified with excitement. Professor Burns and his assistant, Bren, had unearthed the remains of a simple pine casket in the northwest corner of the site. Wildflowers had spread over the area and the archeologists had hesitated disturbing the natural beauty of the overgrown garden that was once occupied a corner of the camp. But the metal detectors had pinged crazily over one small patch of earth and curiosity and his instincts got the better of him.

The contents of the rotted casket was astonishing. Two skeletons wearing tattered but intact uniforms rested side by side under the wildflowers of autumn.

The process of excavating a dig is painstakingly slow. Every bit of fabric, every metal button, every piece of bone is carefully extracted from the ground and catalogued. So far Burns had extrapolated that these two were probably prisoners, an American Air Force Corporal and a Russian foot soldier of unknown rank. They appeared had been buried with loving care, most likely by other prisoners. The small artifacts buried with the bodies attested to the fact. The American held rosary beads,and some sort of notebook. The Russian, an icon of St. Peter and two Russian coins.

Then there were the dog tags they uncovered early that morning, one engraved in cyrillic and the other english. Vladimir Michailovich Nevsky and Thomas E. Davis at last were found. Professor Burns couldn't wait for his students to arrive.

~~~HH~~~

Melinda was looking forward to Halloween night. Costume parties and Oktoberfests were on her list of things to do. But right now she could not tear her eyes away from the obscure blog she had found.

After finding her 'A. Carter' glove a few weeks ago she had been doing research in the University's archives. She had found some mention of a Colonel Robert Hogan being at Stalag Thirteen, but reliable lists of POWs were not to be found. When she returned to the US she might be able to talk to someone in the Armed Forces records department, but for now she regrettably had to drop her search.

Back in her dorm room she had tried a few searches just to see what might be found. When she typed in 'Colonel Robert Hogan,' she found a blog written by his granddaughter, Andrea. It was called _Hogan's Heritage._ She had written down some of the WWll stories her grandpa had told her.

Hogan never came out and said it, but hinted that he had been in some sort of underground movement in the camp. Four names came up frequently in his stories:, James Kinchloe, Louis LeBeau, Peter Newkirk and Andrew Carter.

There were delightful vintage photos of Hogan and his men, looking more like brothers than Colonel and enlisted men. Melinda's, A. (for Andrew) Carter, was leaning on a diminutive French Corporal named Louis LeBeau. The quintet had remained friends, and Andrea had noted all five families had many Roberts, Peters, James', Andrews, Andreas, Louis' and Louises, listed among their offspring.

Colonel Hogan had died a retired General and was obviously loved and now missed.

Melinda tore herself away. It was time to head to the dig.

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Twenty-Four**

Bren ran up to the van that brought the students to the dig. He was so excited he literally bounced up and down impatiently while the students disembarked with coffee cups and hungover expressions. Bren grabbed Melinda's arm.

"Mel, we found dog tags! Dog tags! You know what that means?"

"Oh, God! You know who they are! You can send them home. How wonderful!"

Professor Burns had a policy that when he found the remains of a fallen soldier, he would determined what army he belonged to if he could, what battle was his last and tried to send him home. If no name could be found, which was usually case, he would accompany the small casket of bones to the appropriate country's military cemetery. He would arrange for a small but proper military funeral and put the soldier to rest with his brothers-in-arms. He felt it was the least he could do for the young men who had given their all for their country. It gave him great satisfaction to to help any soldier he came upon find peace.

Melinda felt herself go cold as a strange feeling came over her. "What was the American's name? Was it Andrew Carter?"

Bren looked puzzled. "No. His name was Thomas E. Davis. The Russian was named Vladimir… Hey! Are you alright?"

Melinda went pale and ran to the site of the grave.

"Professor Burns!"

"Melinda! Good! We found dog tags… What's wrong?"

Melinda stared down into the carefully dug hole and her eyes wandered from the skeleton's grim face to the ragged uniform. Her eyes stilled on the rosary beads. They were just like the pair she inherited from her great grandmother which she cherished but seldom used.

"Melinda?" the professor said kindly. "If this is too much for you, you may go back to the dorm. It won't effect your grade at all. We are all human beings here. It's really very sad to think these men were lost all this time. I understand."

Melinda looked up, "You don't understand, Professor. This is my Great Uncle Tommy. I found him."

~~~HH~~~

 **Chapter Twenty-Five**

When the semester was over, Professor Burns and Bren Dietrich asked Melinda if she would like to accompany them to Moscow to bring Vladimir home to his family. By now she felt like Vlad was part of her family and she said she'd be proud to had also helped make the arrangements for Tommy to be buried next to his mother in Brooklyn. Melinda had shared her discovery with her family, but wanted to tell her Grandfather Davis herself. So Melinda's mom helped to set up a Skype account for the elderly gentleman.

 _Grandpa? It's me, Melinda. Can you see me and hear me ok?_

 _Ah, there you are. Ain't this just a marvel. You're in sync and everything. All the way from Germany. Aren't you just a sight for sore eyes. Germany agrees with you. You gonna tell me you're getting married and becoming a hausfrau, babe?_

 _No! You are so silly._

 _I love you too, babe._

 _Grandpa, this is important. Listen -._

 _What ya think I'm doin', the backstroke?_

 _Do you remember I told you I was taking a class in archeology? That I was on a dig at a WWll POW camp?_

 _Yeah, yeah. I remember. Are you ok? Did you hurt yourself? I'll come get you, sweetie…_

 _Grandpa. No! I found something. I found someone. The remains of someone._

 _Ya found a skeleton? That's creepy._

 _Grandpa. He was an American Air Force Corporal. We… we checked the dog tags. He was great uncle Tommy, Grandpa. Your brother Tommy. We're sure of it. Grandpa? I'm bringing him home to you. Grandpa? Grandpa?_

 _I'm… I'm ok. You found him. Thank God. Oh, thank God. He's coming home… I'm coming to get him. You stay there I'll come to you._

 _Grandpa!_

 _No! Sweetie, I gotta do this for him. I gotta understand where he was all this time. I'm coming._

 _Ok. Grandpa. I'll tell my professor. We'll arrange it._

 _Good. Did he… I mean… did he look like somebody took care of him at the end?_

 _He looked like the other POWs loved him very much. He had his rosary in his hands._

 _Melinda? Thank you for lookin'. You know I never stopped hopin' my little brother would find his way home someday. Ya did good, babe._

 _I love you, Grandpa. I'll see you soon._

 **~The End~**


End file.
